“In all Froissart,” says Dr. Merry Ross, “there is nothing more delightful in picturesque details than the description of the jousts between Meldrum and the English knight Talbart on the plains of Picardy.”
It has been the habit to regard Lyndsay in the character rather of a reformer than of a poet, and it cannot be doubted that his own purpose was to edify rather than to delight. But the merit of a satirist consists, not in his display of the more delicate sort of poetic charm, but in the brilliance and keenness of his satire. No critic can aver that in these qualities Lyndsay was lacking. If evidence of power in other fields be demanded, there are, according to the estimate of Professor Nichol, passages in “The Dreme,” “Squyer Meldrum,” and “The Monarche,” “especially in the descriptions of the morning and evening voices of the birds, which, for harmony of versification and grace of imagery, may be safely laid alongside of any corresponding to them in the works of his predecessors.” But it is as a satiric poet that he must chiefly be appraised, and in this character he stands the greatest that Scotland has produced. He remained popular for more than two centuries because he sympathised with the sorrows of the people and satirized the abuse of power by the great. In this respect he was not excelled even by his great successor, Robert Burns. For the reader of the present day the interest of Lyndsay, apart from the broad light which he throws upon the life and manners of his time, lies in his shrewd common-sense, his irresistible humour, vivacity, and dramatic power, with the consciousness that behind these burns a soul of absolute honesty. But the first value of his work, as of the work of every satiric poet, consisted in its wholesome effect upon the spirit of his age. With this fact in view it would be difficult to formulate a better summing-up of Lyndsay’s titles to regard than that by Scott in the fourth canto of Marmion. There, by a poetic license, he is introduced in the character of Lyon Herald on the eve of Flodden, sixteen years before he obtained that office—
He was a man of middle age;
In aspect manly, grave, and sage,
As on king’s errand come;
But in the glances of his eye
A penetrating, keen, and sly
Expression found its home;
The flash of that satiric rage
Which, bursting on the early stage,
Branded the vices of the age,
And broke the keys of Rome.
Still is thy name of high account
And still thy verse has charms,
Sir David Lindesay of the Mount,
Lord Lion King-at-arms!
THE DREME.
Epistil to the Kingis Grace.
Rycht potent Prince, of hie Imperial blude,
Unto thy Grace I traist it be weill knawin
My servyce done unto your Celsitude,
Quhilk nedis nocht at length for to be schawin;
And thocht[13] my youtheid now be neir ouer-blawin,
Excerst[14] in servyce of thyne Excellence,
Hope hes me hecht[15] ane gudlie recompense.
Quhen thow wes young I bure thee in myne arme
Full tenderlie, tyll thow begouth to gang[16];
And in thy bed oft happit[17] thee full warme,
With lute in hand, syne[18], sweitlie to thee sang:
Sumtyme, in dansing, feiralie[19] I flang;
And sumtyme, playand farsis on the flure;
And sumtyme, on myne office takkand cure:
And sumtyme, lyke ane feind, transfigurate,
And sumtyme, lyke the greislie gaist of Gye[20];
In divers formis oft-tymes disfigurate,
And sumtyme, dissagyist full plesandlye.
So, sen[21] thy birth, I have continewalye
Bene occupyit, and aye to thy plesoure,
And sumtyme, Seware, Coppare, and Carvoure[22];
Thy purs-maister and secreit Thesaurare[23],
Thy Yschare[24], aye sen thy natyvitie,
And of thy chalmer cheiffe Cubiculare,
Quhilk, to this hour, hes keipit my lawtie[25];
Lovyng[26] be to the blyssit Trynitie
That sic[27] ane wracheit worme hes maid so habyll[28]
Tyll sic ane Prince to be so greabyll!
But now thow arte, be influence naturall,
Hie of ingyne[29], and rycht inquisityve
Of antique storeis, and deidis marciall;
More plesandlie the tyme for tyll ouerdryve,
I have, at length, the storeis done descryve[30]
Of Hectour, Arthour, and gentyll Julyus,
Of Alexander, and worthy Pompeyus;
Of Jasone, and Medea, all at lenth,
Of Hercules the actis honorabyll,
And of Sampsone the supernaturall strenth,
And of leill luffaris[31] storeis amiabyll;
And oft-tymes have I feinyeit mony fabyll,
Of Troylus the sorrow and the joye,
And Seigis all of Tyir, Thebes, and Troye.
The propheceis of Rymour, Beid, and Marlyng,[32]
And of mony uther plesand storye,
Of the Reid Etin, and the Gyir Carlyng,[33]
Confortand thee, quhen that I saw thee sorye.
Now, with the supporte of the King of Glorye,
I sall thee schaw ane storye of the new,
The quhilk affore I never to thee schew.
But humilie I beseik thyne Excellence,
With
